You can't break the loop of thirty years. You have been marked. You may have resurrected yourself but somewhere you have died those thirty years prior and you will never leave that reality. You are forever in room of suspension. There is no address, no phone, no outside knowledge of this room to anyone else. Your secret. Your curse. Life goes and you grow and age and seasons come and disappear and deep inside while you have hoped patiently waiting it's your turn finally, but now you realize this has all been decided those thirty years ago. 

When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real. 

I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened, or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.”

— Mary Oliver

If you were a bluebird you'd be a sad one

all the dreams you thought it answered

All the stars have longer planets only one is gone 

and all the dreams you thought it answered those you call your own  

All of your illusions falling brings you to your knees 

and all the difference that you see is just what you believe

I'm a monster on the hill

 

tie me up and drug me...cause there's a hole in my heart getting bigger and everything I'll ever be I've been

"Some escape, some door to open"

Love my way

not been best month & this time of year is always hard so watching call me by your name earlier today still having emotional residual feels blurring from the film itself into what have been thinking recently of my life lived as a youth & the past how we are shaped & the things that never transpire or stay very long

______________________________

second gif down by @ahn0ahn0

In the heart of dreams grows a rose

In the heart of dreams grows a rose 

submerged soaking in red vessels and burst pipes 

turn a blade and twist it up to nine

encrusted and self-serving

Anything is possible. 
Because I'm not the girl I used to be. 

- Girl On A Train

this makes my heart sink deep to my chest and just lay suspended there for awhile, just like when I am floating on my back in the pool but added with a heavy sigh lowering my abdomen as dead weight and I stay suspended and somewhat stuck..."it's a saddening bore"

"Happy Birthday, are you lonely yet?"

"My anger is a form of madness, so I'd rather have hope than sadness"

Could I be the person I need to be? I always believed so but the last couple years I've started to doubt how much I really know about anything at all. That the only thing I know is myself and what if I am no use for any other foresight or knowledge? A friend back in college talked about how things seemed to be melting all around her. I wonder what if I am melting? And if I am, what am I melting into? Why did I ever, how could I ever think that things would just fall into place because I wanted it so badly?

Kyoko: Isn't life disappointing?

Noriko: Yes, it is

TOKYO STORY (TÔKYÔ MONOGATARI) (1953)

I'm not alive because of my guilt

As I've gotten older I found
the wounds that hurt the most
no one can see.
Turning off the faucet
you no longer have to feel
the water tearing down your face
dripping in the sink.
It's as if your watching your happiest
memories being taken out
through a spinal tap.
The doctor said it was 
only a small procedure,
the nurse assured me
it would not hurt,
the fluids dripping into a needle
that is clear and clean like glass.
No one knows the deepest desires
emptying out from an 
endangered mind.
I know no one in this life
will be a watchman 
over my back.
Make sure to keep
myself clean,
wipe up the blood 
from the floor,
don't forget the membranes
in the corner
or you won't get  your
deposit back.
I've never been in love
with someone
(not just lovers)
who couldn't resist
taking a bite,
spitting out my soul like
leaves of tobacco and tar.
Green eyes are pretty,
so are blue,
I am hazel,
I can't decipher who is right
and what side of the grass
is green enough to
make it all better.
Am I wrong,
if I like teeth touching my lips,
seeing through the veins
in my cheeks,
I don't like to be around
the kissing kind.
Tonight is for one.
Don't blow the brains out
too hard on the floor.

false alarm

scratched till I bled and then went at it again

The summer has come sprung open 20 years from inertia to bring about the prospect of death again because life imitates its worst parts stitching the wounds haphazardly, tyrannical eruption against the heart clotting the blood and setting restart.

 My favorite traumas are the ones I can repeat as I restore the wound back to its rightful catastrophe while continuing to nourish the beast making sure it has plenty of new blood to spoil, spill, dissolve, rinse and repeat. Someday maybe death will not be my default as I daydream. Maybe I can conquer and not subsist morbidity in place of all the future chances or let it steal every decision I cannot bring myself to risk.

Then I start to realize either I can laugh or I can cry because I am going off script.

"I guess I'm stuck with me"